“Long Island iced tea,” she yells in my ear. “Bringing out the big guns to help you relax. You look like you’re about to bolt.”
She’s not wrong.
We clink glasses and I mouth “cheers” then begin to suck down the potent drink through the straw. We find a vacant two-person table in the corner, at the edge of the dance floor, and settle in to people-watch and finish our drinks.
The dance floor is a mass of bodies pressed together, like a living, undulating work of art. Especially when the lights begin to strobe, and the jerking movements look like a fever dream.
As the alcohol courses through my body, relaxing me and blunting my nervous system, I find myself moving with the music. I haven’t danced since college, and I’m suddenly wondering why as I give myself over to the music. It feels amazing. Free.
Sloane hops off the stool and leans into my ear. “Going to get us one more drink then we’re going in.” She points to the dance floor.
I nod, handing her my empty glass.
Every time my thoughts drift to Sandro, I force my attention back on the dance floor and enjoy watching people of all ages let loose, drown their worries in music and alcohol and each other.
A beautiful blonde in a white tube dress dancing between two hot-as-hell men has captured my attention. I’m jealous of how free she looks, how confident and uninhibited, grinding on the men, taking what she wants from them without a care in the world.
Sloane returns with our drinks, and we end up standing and dancing while we suck them down. Halfway through the second Long Island, I’m really feeling it. My inhibition has left the buildingand I’m rolling my hips, arms up in the air, laughing and dirty dancing with Sloane.
Okay, this was a great idea.
A warm palm lands on my hip and someone’s breath tickles my ear. “Hey, sexy. Want to dance?”
I turn my head and stare up at the smiling man behind me. He’s a hair’s breadth away from pressing his body into my backside.
He’s cute in a clean-cut frat-bro kind of way. Sandy-blonde hair, killer smile, nicely dressed. There’s another guy with him, same vibe, who’s chatting up Sloane. They look harmless enough.
Sloane and I share a glance that holds an unspoken agreement. Then we let them lead us through the crowd to the middle of the dance floor.
“I’m Preston,” he says in my ear as his hand presses on my lower back.
“Lennon,” I shout over the music, but I’m not sure he heard me.
Chapter 14
Alessandro
I’m white-knuckling the second-floor railing, my gaze locked on Lennon. My angel looks like fucking sin in heels and a little black dress. Since she arrived, she and her friend have just been drinking in the corner, but now they’re up and dancing, starting to draw attention. She must be feeling the alcohol.
Unfortunately, I am, too. We’ve been up here for two hours, sipping whiskey and coming up with a strategy to confront Zerilli when New York gives us the green light. My control is slipping. The urge to go to her is becoming an incessant tug, draining my willpower.
I feel Gunnar’s presence beside me.
After following my stare, he sighs. “Shit.”
My back stiffens as two men approach the girls. The tall, finance bro-looking motherfucker puts his hand on Lennon’s hip and leans into her ear. When she looks up and smiles at him, a pained groan escapes my throat. “Fuck.” I squeeze the railing tighter and force myself to look away. “Mother fuck,” I growl.
Gunnar palms my shoulder. “Better not to watch, brother.”
My face is hot, my temples pulsing with my heartbeat. There’s a steel band around my chest keeping me from breathing properly. I nod in agreement but can’t stop myself from finding her in the crowd again.
She’s smiling and dancing, facing her friend but the asshole is grinding on her from behind. I try to look away, I really do. But I apparently like to make myself bleed as much as the victims in my warehouse.
She suddenly turns toward him, and the fucker pulls her against his body.
My vision goes black around the edges. My legs are moving, carrying me down the stairs before my brain registers my actions. I hear Gunnar call my name, but the sound is lost in the absolute white-hot rage sending blood rushing in my ears.
I cut a path through the crowd, shouldering people out of my way until I catch a glimpse of her dark auburn hair. She’s moving through the crowd away from me. I use my bulk to force myself through the bodies. As we exit the crowded dance floor on the other side, I see the asshole has her hand and is pulling her toward the door.
